


What Regulus Saw

by alexmurray



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Regulus POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 23:37:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7911973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexmurray/pseuds/alexmurray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regulus saw many things throughout his short life, including the cruelty of the Blacks, the mistakes of Dumbledore, and the horrors of war. Just a short idea I had to get out of my head. Better description to come later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Regulus Saw

What Regulus Saw

 

Regulus Arcturus Black was three years old when he watched his mother curse his older brother for speaking inappropriately to an elder. Sirius had told Cantankerus Nott he wasn’t allowed to insult his brother with all the defiance of a five-year-old. The man had called Regulus stupid for not being able to read, and Sirius was singularly unimpressed. “He’s three!” Sirius shouted, red faced. “I bet you couldn’t read until you were at least twice his age!” Infuriated, Walburga had cast a whipping curse at Sirius and banished him to his room for the rest of the evening, without food. He watched as Sirius stomped up the stairs defiantly, stopping only to whisper “It was worth it,” to Regulus as he passed.

 

He was four years old when he watched Bellatrix torture a young girl from his hiding spot in Black Manor. It was a tight space, but he was small and it had a good view of the basement, and the nursery was boring. He watched as the young girl, barely older than himslef, screamed and cried until she could cry no more. He watched as Rodulphus Lestrange, Bellatrix’ fiancée entered the basement, kissing her passionately. “You did well,” Regulus heard him purr into her ear. “Our Lord will be proud. He will mark you when I tell him of this.”

 

He was five when he watched his mother send curse after curse to knock “lesser wizards” out of their way as the Blacks walked up the ramp to their private box. The Blacks were the best and anyone who got in their way was to be “shown their place.” Watching a live quidditch match was a reward for him and Sirius. They had “performed satisfactorily” during their tutoring sessions that spring. He watched as Sirius observed the proceedings with feigned indifference. At seven years old he was expected to hide his emotions. Fear, sadness, excitement and such were beneath a Black. Regulus at five was still allowed to be affected by the excitement. At least for another year that was.

 

He was six when he watched Andromeda storm out of Grimmauld place in the middle of Christmas dinner when Arcturus had announced her engagement to Lucius Malfoy. “I will never marry that poncy bigot!” she shouted storming out of the dinning room. “I love Ted and you can’t stop me from marrying him.” The adults had descended into shouting, threatening violence against Andromeda and her muggleborn boyfriend. He watched as Sirius snuck out of the dinning room, following their nicest cousin in all the chaos. He watched minutes later when Sirius returned, unseen by everyone but him, a small piece of paper in his hands.

 

He was seven when he watched Walburga introduce her eldest son to the Dark Lord and promise the Dark Lord Sirius’ service. Sirius had remained quiet, but shifted his arms in a way Regulus knew meant trouble. Sure enough, later that evening Sirius had stolen their mother’s favorite necklace, hiding it away in an unused bedroom. “She deserves it,” he stated. “I’m never going to serve the Dark Lord, and neither are you. He wants to kill Ted. I like Ted.” Regulus had merely nodded and retreated to the library. He liked Ted too, at least what he heard from the letters Sirius read from Andromeda, but he was also afraid to act against his mother. Sirius might not seem to mind being cursed every other day, but he was keen to avoid it.

 

He was eight when he watched Kreature beat Sirius on his mother’s orders. Sirius had confessed to tracking mud into the house from the back garden. It had really been Regulus (he hadn’t realized how muddy the ground was when he went out that morning), but Sirius had explained, when their mother had demanded who had done so, that “She already hates me. There’s no reason to make her hate you as well.” Regulus had wanted to argue otherwise, to tell his brother that their mother loved him too, but he couldn’t. Because Walburga did not love her first son as much as her second. She put up with Sirius because until he actually did something Arcturus disowned him for, he was the heir. But it certainly didn’t mean she had to like him.

 

He was nine when he watched his mother destroy the sitting room in rage after receiving Sirius’ first letter from Hogwarts. He had been sorted into Gryffindor. No Black had ever been sorted into Gryffindor. Not even the disowned ones. He watched as she composed a scathing howler, calling him “a no good blood-traitor” and promising to “show him what a real Black could do” upon his return home. He watched as his father, who grew meeker and weaker each year said nothing as his wife threatened to kill his firstborn son after “letting Bellatrix get in some practice.”

 

He was ten when he watched his brother return home from his first year of Hogwarts a changed boy. He was louder and rasher than ever. He was proud and arrogant and thought all Slytherins were evil. He openly stood against their parent’s beliefs, hurling insults back at Walburga when she ordered Kreature to confine him to his room. He watched as letter after letter arrived for his brother, to mysteriously disappear during the night. He watched too, in the morning as Sirius’ owl flew off carrying letter to a James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and Remus Lupin. Though he never said anything, Regulus was jealous. He had plenty of aquantainces and “suitable playmates” his age, but no friends like his brother appeared to have. And Sirius’ new friends meant the twelve-year-old all but ignored his younger brother, leaving him alone in the dark house.

 

He was eleven when he watched his brother and three other boys pull increasingly nasty pranks on Slytherins, one in particular. Sirius, for all his hatred of his family’s beliefs had been raised a Black. He had been raised to use violence to get his way, to believe he was superior to everyone else, to believe he was never in the wrong. He watched as the poor, greasy Slytherin his brother pranked most fought back. He struggled with what to do. He loved his brother, but ever since Sirius had been sorted into Gryffindor, he hadn’t had time for Regulus. And since Regulus had been sorted into Slytherin, he hadn’t spoken to him. A quick “good luck” as they exited the train was the last words Sirius had said to him. So he decided to befriend the greasy Slytherin. Made that would make his brother notice him again.

 

He was twelve when he watched his cousin Narcissa marry Lucius Malfoy. It was a grand ceremony, the guest list a who’s who of the pureblood world. He watched as Sirius sulked in the corner, unwilling to talk to anyone. He watched as the adults discussed “our Lord’s agenda” and the “mudblood problem.” He had already been introduced to the Dark Lord and told he was to take the mark when he turned sixteen. Sirius had been told too, but Regulus doubted he would do so. Sirius didn’t listen to anyone in the family anymore. He still came home, but escaped to the Potter’s as soon as possible. Walburga tried to stop him, but short of storming the Potter house to forcibly drag him back, there was nothing she could do. As the dancing began and he was introduced to “proper young ladies,” he watched Bellatrix grin terrifyingly as Rodulphus whispered something in her ear. He shuddered. Many years ago, Regulus had learned that things that made Bellatrix grin were best to be avoided.

 

He was thirteen when he watched Snape seethe and the mauraders nearly fall apart after Sirius tried to feed Snape to a werewolf. Regulus was aware what had happened (Snape, while sworn to secrecy by Dumbledore, had been able to drop enough hints) but was hardly surprised. Sirius had watched his mother use a werewolf to kill a muggleborn wizard when he was seven for the crime of “looking at her.” It was hardly surprising he would try to use a werewolf to kill his arch enemy of the last five years. After all, Walburga had taught Sirius violence was the answer and Dumbledore, so eager to pull a Black to the light, had neglected to ever truly punish Sirius for his actions. Nobody had ever taught the Black heir right from wrong. Regulus watched the following morning when Sirius received a letter from his mother telling him “it was an admirable effort, if only it had worked.” He crumpled his own letter, saying the exact same thing into a small ball, and threw it into the fire later that day.

 

He was fourteen when he watched his brother, bruised and battered, drag his trunk down the stairs with one hand, broom in the other hand. From the shadows of the library, he watched Sirius steal a bag of galleons from their father and slip out the door. He knew this was the last time he would see his brother in Grimmauld place. He almost stepped out of the shadows, to say goodbye or something, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. He and Sirius had hardly spoken in the last four years. No sense in changing that now. He watched the following morning as his mother raged and burned Sirius off the family tree. There were almost as many burnt spots as names in his generation. “I will do you proud,” he agreed when his mother asked him if he would be a proper heir, unlike the blood-traitor. No need to make it more burnt spots than names. No good would come of that.

 

He was fifteen when he watched a group of Slytherins discuss taking the dark mark. “It’s not like we have a choice,” one said. “Everyone already thinks we are Death Eaters. Might as well take the mark so the Dark Lord doesn’t try to kill us as well.” The worst part, Regulus thought, was that they were right. As pureblood Slytherins, Dumbledore’s cronies had already determined them to be guilty. He glanced at his own left arm, still unmarked and shuddered. He watched as the war intensified outside the castle, growing worse inside at the same time. Hexes and curses exchanged in the hallways escalated from stinging and tripping jinxes to dark spells, such as Snape’s newest creation. But still, Dumbledore did nothing. There was no need for him to express his displeasure with the man, everyone knew the Slytherins hated him, but Regulus still seethed. The man could do so much to help. And not just the Slytherins.

 

He was sixteen when he watched the Dark Lord cast the cruciatus curse on a fellow Death Eater who returned with bad news. The man, or boy really as he was hardly eighteen, fell to the ground, gasping for air as the Dark Lord released the curse. “Regulus Black,” the Dark Lord stated, turnig to the Black heir. “Can I trust you to complete a mission?” Regulus had answered affirmatively, bending down to kiss the hem of his Lord’s robes. Slytherins may be cunning and ambitious, but sometimes those ambitions were as simple as “don’t get killed.” He watched muggles and muggleborns get tortured and killed by Death Eaters throughout the year, remaining out of it himself only because he was sixteen and not yet legal. He lamented, out loud, his inability to participate. But inside he was grateful. All he could think of was the young girl he had seen Bellatrix torture when he was four. He wanted no part in this.

 

He was seventeen when he watched Bellatrix and Sirius duel in the middle of Hogsmeade, both lightening fast on their feet, wands firing curse after curse. He watched as Sirius hit Bellatrix with a cutting curse, opening a large wound on her arm, only to be hit with a dark bone breaker in return. She cackled, and Regulus realized he could hardly recognize the witch that had once been Bellatrix Black. Too much dark magic changed a person Blacks new that better than most. He cowered silently behind a statue as the Death Eaters apparated away and Sirius was portkeyed to the hospital by another wizard. He watched as the professors and mediwitches arrived in force, giving first aid to injured students and conjuring white blankets to cover the dead. He watched as Bartemius Crouch Jr approached him, and evil smirk on his face. “A good show wasn’t it?” Regulus merely nodded. “Too bad we were stuck here as students. I would have enjoyed participating,” Crouch added, walking back towards the castle.

 

He was eighteen when he watched Kreature, his beloved house elf pop back to him, moaning and crying. He nursed the elf back to help quietly in his free time as he served the Dark Lord. He watched as the war grew worse still, as hundreds of innocents were killed- many of them children. He watched a pensive memory from his elf and researched the darkest of dark magic. He thought about everything he had seen in his short life, everything he had witnessed, had done. Then he made a decision. And finally, he watched Kreature pop away with the locket as inferi dragged his weakened body and tired mind into the lake. He watched the world fade away and all he could think was “I’m sorry.”


End file.
